Sixteen Now
by Mistmantle
Summary: Years before the Cylon attack, Laura met Bill.


**_A/N- Laura's mother is called Judith. She's referred to as 'Jude' here a couple times._**

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><p>Laura Roslin stepped onto the fleet's newest battlestar, Galactica. It was painted dark gray with florescent lights and metal furniture. She clicked down the hall in her newest heels, following the others. She was a runner-up in a political essay contest, and this was the prize.<p>

She hadn't wanted to come, but Jude Roslin had insisted it was a good opportunity. They had gone shopping for clothes the day the letter had come. Now she was the only one dressed fancier than un-ripped jeans and a sweater. White eyelet dress, nylons, four-inch black heels, smooth black suit jacket. On top of that, her mother had curled her hair.

_I look ridiculous. I just have to make the best of it, though. Knees bent, toe to heel. Shoulders straight, chin up._She flicked her hair over her shoulder, taking pride in her head-and-a-half over the others and the professional click of her heels on the floor. She carefully kept her eyes on the ship and her fighters.

They toured the ship, top to bottom, from the airlocks to the CIC. It was several hours later when they finally stopped in the canteen.

Their uniformed guide led them to a large table to one side. "The canteen operates in the traditional manner. Just grab a tray and get in line."

As the others queued, Laura slid to one side and whispered something about the restroom to the chaperone. She walked away and turned down the hall that would take her on the longest path to the head. After the tour, she knew her way around the ship. It seemed to lay itself out naturally in her mind's eye. She took a left, down the hall, right, right, left, straight ahead. She slipped into a stall, locked it, and whipped a small notebook out of her pocket.

_Laura's List of Things To Do_

She flipped past the first two pages, full already.

_Number 52: Find a way to get on Galactica again. Politics or no, I want to fly again._

She carefully stepped back, flushed the toilet with her shoe, since no one did nothing in a toilet stall, and stepped out. A tall man was washing his face at one of the sinks. She slid up next to him and soaped her hands.

"Are you here for the essay contest?" he said. "You're a bit young to be a rookie."

"Yeah. Politics aren't really my thing, but my mother likes me to. . . explore my options." She blushed, suddenly realizing she was talking to a man who was probably seven or eight years older than she was.

"Politics." He smiled at her. "That's what I like about the military. You can only get killed once."

She blinked. "That's clever!" She laughed. "I'll just go home and say 'Mother, I'm joining the military. I'll only get killed once there. Politics will kill me in so many more painful ways.'" She turned the water off, dried her hands, and held one out. "Laura Roslin."

"Bill Adama."

They shook and then both retracted their hands self-consciously.

"Good luck, sir."

"The same, Miss Roslin."

* * *

><p>Adama stared at the woman at the decommissioning ceremony. She seemed strangely familiar, as she stepped into Galactica's halls. She was dressed in a crisp suit, tall heels, and she'd curled her dark red hair away from her face.<p>

The woman stepped forward and held out her hand. He gripped it tightly and they shook. Dee stepped forwards for introductions.

"Secretary of Education, Laura Roslin. Commander Adama of the Galactica."

He frowned slightly. _Laura Roslin_. The name was familiar, but he couldn't place it. He nodded to her, and led the way to the starboard launch wing for the ceremony.

Laura watched the man's back. Surely this wasn't the same Adama she had meet all those years ago. How long was it? Nearly forty? She followed him, heels clicking down the hall again. The past washed across her, and she almost felt sixteen again.

'Commander.' That's what the woman had said. Perhaps it was the same man. Forty years was a long career, but it took a while to work up to leading an entire battlestar.

She stepped up to his side. "How long have you been serving with the Galactica, Commander?"

"Thirty-three years, Madam Secretary."

_Nearly forty years._

She made a blind jump. "I've never been to a decommissioning ceremony before. I wasn't much into politics when I was younger, so I've been trying to catch up, but I've found I can't be everywhere at once." She had fallen flat. She could tell that by the schoolgirl excitement in her voice and his complete stoicism.

"Hmm. It's a simple affair. This is the first one to have happened since before Adar was elected, so I suppose you mightn't have seen one before. Galactica is the last of her kind."

He glanced at her again. When would he have seen her before? He thought back across the years. Her heels clacked across the tiles, and suddenly he knew.

The essay contest the year after he'd joined Galactica's crew. The funny girl in the head who didn't like politics. He nearly laughed. Look where she was now. A small change of faith.

They reached the launch wing and paused in the doorway.

"Good luck, Madam Roslin."

She looked surprised for a moment. "The same, sir."

When she had found he seat, she pulled out a battered blue notebook.

_Number 342: Laugh with Bill Adama again._

* * *

><p>He slid the ring onto her finger. It was too large, by far, but it bound them together. They were one, forever and always. He returned to his seat, keeping his eyes clear. It wouldn't do to crash the Raptor now. He landed on the ridge he had chosen, and carried her out to the large rocks that the grass grew over. A warm breeze swirled her clothes and the dark red wig she had worn all too much. He set the bag next to her and pulled out the green scarf from long ago. He slid the wig off, and carefully wrapped the scarf around her head. She wouldn't want to be buried in the wig.<p>

Adama sat on the ridge, next to her grave. Her remaining possessions were in a bag at his side, and he was slowing examining them. There were two books; a small photograph of the people he assumed must be her sisters; her hairbrush, with long red curls still in it; a photo of himself; and a small, tattered, blue notebook. He flipped it open. It began in a childish script. Annotations had been added in various other colors at different ages.

_Laura's List of Things To Do_

_Number 1: Pass all of my math tests. (Finished the last one in college!)_

_Number 2: Find and buy a copy of _Shaba's Guide to Space and Flying. _(Bart's Flea Market)_

He read faster, turning the pages and scanning every word.

_Number 52: Find a way to get on Galactica again. Politics or no, I want to fly again. (I was on the ship again, to decommission her. I think I saw that boy from the head again.)_

_Number 78: Get my teaching degree. (Got a job at Caprica Elementary.)_

_Number 159: Help Soo Lin graduate. (She did it! It took us a while to do the math section, but she passed!)_

Finally, he reached the year she became Secretary of Education. He almost stopped, feeling like he was invading her privacy. Something pushed him to continue. She wouldn't mind.

_Number 678: I'm not going to take Doloxin._

_Number 699: Find Earth. (Found it! I even got to see it! There's so many animals and plants I can't count them. I'm sitting in sunlight for the first time in years.)_

He smiled sadly. She must have written that recently. The post-script was written carefully, but so shakily he could barely read it.

_Number 763: Enjoy a shower._

_Number 1452: Visit Bill._

The list sprawled across nearly every page of the notebook. As time went by, the requests for herself became simpler, and her dreams for the fleet grew ever more courageous. Finally, on the last page, she had written several paragraphs, rather than points.

_My dearest Bill,_

_I know that one day you'll be reading this, and that I'll be gone. I've been writing my dreams here for, well longer than I care to remember. I want you to know that I loved you, and continue to do so forever. One day, we'll be together again, in a golden land. I think we've come so far from where we started, and I don't mean just location. We're better people now, and stronger for it. We've made some hard decisions, and there are still so many actions I regret, but we're past it all now. I suppose the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, hmm? I wish it could have been different sometimes. _

_Anyways, Lee will need you, at least for a while. He said he wanted to explore the lands, but I don't think he's quite ready to leave you forever, even if he says he is. Doc Cottle is a good man, don't blame him for helping me. It was my choice, and it wasn't easy for any of us, myself included. I think he was planning on sticking around; visit him sometimes. For you, don't lose yourself. Keep in touch with people, live while you can. The thing I regret most is not having tried to do everything I could. Opportunities and first chances. I want you to see this world, see its beauty and its life. You can't do that properly if you stay by me. When we meet in the afterlife, the Summer Lands, whatever the frak you want to call it, you shall tell me all about your journeys._

_I love you,_

_Laura_


End file.
